Time And Again

By Nancy Fraser

When reporter, Kate Brogan, and her ex-husband vice cop, Matthew Kelley, both end up investigating local psychic Olga Limas, Kate realizes the fluff piece of journalism she'd anticipated might just turn into something more. Out to debunk the woman's claim of being able to guide seance participants into the future, both hers and Matt's skepticism is put to the test when they find themselves transported to 2065.Certain the only one they can truly trust is each other, they form an alliance that quickly stirs more intimate and loving memories. Just as they are about to be shown the way home, a presidential assassination puts their lives, and their chances for a "happily ever after," in jeopardy.

• Language: English
• Publisher: The Wild Rose Press
• Release date: Apr 10, 2009
• ISBN: 9781509200269

Nancy Fraser

Nancy Fraser is Henry A. and Louise Loeb Professor of Political and Social Science at the New School for Social Research. Her many publications include Fortunes of Feminism (2013), Scales of Justice (2008), Adding Insult to Injury: Nancy Fraser Debates Her Critics (2008) and Redistribution or Recognition? (with Axel Honneth, 2003).

Book preview

Inc.

Reaching out, Matt took hold of her elbow, pulling her up to the next crossbar until they shared one rung, their legs touching thigh to thigh. Turning her around so that she stood balanced in front of him, he pressed her hands flat against the small, metal square and fanned his own hands over hers.

She closed her eyes and let the overwhelming heat of Matt’s body wash through her. Nothing’s changed. He can still jerk your heartstrings with little more than a touch.

Okay, Kate, on the count of three, we push. Got it?

Yes, I’ve got it.

One, Matt began, two, three.

At his mark, she pushed with all her might. Against her arms, his muscles bunched and strained. With a second effort, and then a third, they displaced the heavy lid and slid it to one side. Together, they stepped onto the next rung and poked their heads through the narrow opening.

Holy Pulitzer Prize!

What the hell? Matt said at the same time.

What is all this, Matt?

I’m not sure, Cricket.

Like the beam of a maritime sentry, a wide and bright light swept over them, temporarily blinding them, instinctively forcing her backward and into Matt’s arms. The beam swung to the left and then to the right, illuminating a vast room filled with blinking lights and computers. A small, circular drone buzzed around the room. The high tech set up resembled something straight out of Star Wars.

Where are we? Matt wondered aloud, his lips hovering close to her ear. The eerie uncertainty of his question sent a chill down her back.

More importantly, she responded, her voice filled with a nervous excitement, "when are we?"

Praise for Time and Again…

"This book caught me from the first word and didn't let go until I finished it three hours later.

Fraser did an excellent job with world building, characterization and dialogue. I saw the future--both the good and the frightening aspects of it. I enjoyed how, despite advances in technology, people are still as flawed as always.

If you like witty romances with a paranormal/sci-fi/time-travel bent, you are going to love this one." - Reviewed by Water Lily ~ Long and Short Reviews.

Time And Again

by

Nancy Fraser

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales, is entirely coincidental.

Time And Again

COPYRIGHT Ó 2009 by Nancy Fraser

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission of the author or The Wild Rose Press except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.

Contact Information: [e-mail]

Cover Art by RJ Morris

The Wild Rose Press

PO Box 708

Adams Basin, NY 14410-0706

Visit us at www.thewildrosepress.com

Publishing History

First Faery Rose Edition, 2009

Second Faery Rose Edition 2016

Print ISBN: 1-60154-461-8

Published in the United States of America

Dedication

For Dawson, Mackenzie, Haley, Anya and William – you will all live in a time that Grandma

can only write about. Enjoy!

PROLOGUE

Manhattan, Three Years Earlier

The sterile white walls of Lenox Hill hospital closed in on Matt; the antiseptic odor of the ICU filled his head, unsettling his stomach. Suspended somewhere between wishful thinking and reality, he watched through tear-clouded eyes while Kate fought tenaciously for her life. For the past thirty-six hours he’d stood at the foot of her bed, helpless to do anything but pray.

He blamed himself. If he’d been with Kate, if he’d kept their lunch date, she wouldn’t be here now, tethered to enough damned machines to power the entire Upper East Side. He wouldn’t be here, like this, praying for Kate’s life and mourning all they’d already lost.

But no, not him. He’d called her at the last minute with an excuse: an extra shift…a chance to possibly catch the bad guys in the act. For the sake of making the city a little safer, he’d nearly sacrificed the one person he loved most. When he’d called, he’d expected her to rant and rave, to remind him of all the other lunches they’d missed, of the burnt roasts and canceled plans. Yet, she hadn’t. She’d not argued at all. She’d just accepted.

Matt closed his eyes and silently recited the promises he’d made over and over again in the last day and a half; asked for the umpteenth time for the chance to make things better between him and Kate. For a chance—

Hey, bro, how you holding up?

The sound of Jim’s voice wrapped around Matt like a welcome security blanket.

Just like Kate, I’m hanging on. His gaze fell to the chart in his brother’s hands. You’ve got the lab reports?

Not yet. They should be coming up any minute.

"What can you tell me now?"

Not much, other than what we already know. No sign of outward trauma. No indication of prior illness. Methodically, Jim tapped his finger against her chart, emphasizing each point. For all intents and purposes, he continued, Kate’s as healthy as a horse.

Then why is she lying there just two breaths short of death?

Jim laid a hand on Matt’s shoulder and squeezed, offering without words his love and strength. She’s making progress and her condition’s been upgraded from critical to serious. You know Kate, she’s not—

Excuse me, Dr. Kelly, the nurse interrupted. I’ve got the lab results.

Thanks, he said, taking the papers from the nurse’s hand.

Well? Matt demanded, barely giving him time to scan the results.

With a dismissive wave of his hand and a faint lifting of his eyebrows, Jim flipped over the first page and went on to the second. Rushing him, Matt realized, would be futile. Thorough to the bone, Jim analyzed everything to the extreme.

Well? He repeated, silently hating the very traits that made Jim an excellent physician.

In a habitual gesture, Jim removed his glasses and tucked them into the breast pocket of his lab coat. According to the blood tests, Kate has ingested a large quantity of a drug similar to UG-32.

UG-32?

It’s a drug given to rape victims within the first twenty-four hours to abort a possible pregnancy.

That can’t be, Matt denied. You said ‘similar to’, but not exactly, right? I mean, it could be some other drug.

It has all the properties of UG-32, plus some additional chemical makeup with which I’m unfamiliar. The secondary compounds in this drug don’t exist, at least not to the collective knowledge of anyone here at Lenox Hill.

So, what you’re saying is, there’s a crackpot out there somewhere making designer drugs with untried chemicals.

Jim nodded, and Matt asked, But why? If this UG-32 does the same thing, why would there be a need for a black market substitute?

Availability most likely. UG-32 is a controlled substance and requires a prescription.

How’d Kate get it?

You sound as if you think she took it on purpose.

Matt shook his head. Vehemently, he said, No, not Kate. Someone gave it to her. They slipped it into her food or, maybe, into her water.

But who? Jim asked. Who’s she ticked off lately—other than you, that is?

Knowing Kate, it must have been someone important. Damnedest thing is, she promised to slow down. Maybe even quit entirely within the next month. Now, it’s too late.

Kate’ll never quit, Jim told him. She’s too competitive. Without a story to chase, Kate wouldn’t be the same woman you fell in love with and married.

Matt sighed deeply and pinched the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger in an effort to dispel his headache. Do me a favor, Jimbo, and keep an eye on her. I’ll be back in an hour or so.

No problem, bro. Where are you going? Before he could answer, Jim added, Hopefully home to get some much needed rest.

Down to the station. Something’s not right here. I can feel it. Smell it. I want names and dates. I’ve been standing here for the past two days making myself a mental list of Kate’s last few investigations and of anyone who’d have a reason to do this.

And, what’ve you come up with?

Nothing, unfortunately. That’s why I want to check in with the department.

Stay calm, Matt, Jim reminded him. This one’s personal.

You’re damned right it is. Someone out there drugged my wife. Pausing only a moment, he added bitterly, and murdered our baby.

ONE

Greenwich Village, Current Day

Welcome to Madame Olga’s. I am Lillie, Madame’s assistant. Please come in and join the others.

Reluctantly, Kate followed the woman’s lead, stepping across the threshold and into a foyer decorated in plush gold and deep purple. The pungent aroma of spicy incense assaulted her senses. Rather than soothe, as most incense did, this particular aroma seemed to heighten her awareness to a near-fever pitch, sending her pulse into overdrive, increasing her wariness from the very beginning.

Right this way, Lillie told her. The other guests are waiting.

Thank you, she said, following closely in Lillie’s wake, moving instinctively to the rhythm set by the ringing bells fastened to the woman’s wrists and ankles.

The flowing skirts are a nice touch. Not to mention the gold hoop earrings and heavy makeup. A scene from a 60s B movie, complete with costumes. What’s Cal Peters gotten me into this time?

Despite her intention to remain unaffected, she couldn’t help but feel a bit apprehensive. There’d been so many surreal stories, so many unexplained phenomenon.

At the parlor door, Kate handed Lillie her jacket, then drew a deep breath and stepped inside. She’d never been to a séance before. Nor had she ever had her palm read, or her cards done. It all seemed so hokey.

Four other guests stood around a large circular table. Positioned in the very center of the room and covered with a dark velvet cloth, it drew Kate’s gaze. A crystal ball and deck of tarot cards sat in the middle of the table.

All the theatrical trappings of a supposed medium…

From her post at the door, Lillie told them, Madame will join you shortly.

No sooner had she spoken when the lights flickered and a discretely concealed door on the opposite wall slid open. A matronly woman, dressed in flowing emerald-green robes, swept into the room so smoothly she could have been floating on a cloud.

How dramatic. What next? Will the table rise? Will the heavy brocade drapes billow even in the absence of a breeze? What does Madame Olga have in store for tonight’s prey?

Good evening, ladies and gentlemen, the woman said, "I am Madame Olga."

Kate gave the woman full points. Madame Olga possessed a very commanding presence. So much so, she barely noticed when the parlor door opened to admit one last guest.

Ah, Madame crooned smoothly, a late arrival. Welcome to Madame Olga’s.

Kate looked toward the door. Her gaze settled on the tall man and met his own. His flared in recognition. She sucked in a deep breath. Her eyes widened in surprise.

Matthew.

What is he doing here? More importantly, what could the N.Y.P.D. possibly want with a small time operator like Olga Limas? Suddenly, the fluff piece of journalism Kate had been anticipating became something far more interesting and infinitely more newsworthy.

Please, Madame Olga invited, let us all be seated.

It would have been too much, Kate supposed, to expect that he might have chosen a seat on the opposite side of the table. No, not Matt. He had to take the chair directly to her left.

Leaning close, he whispered, What the hell are you doing here, Kate?

None of your business, Matt, she whispered back.

Are you on an assignment?

"None of your business," she repeated, more stridently this time.

Matt rolled his eyes in an exaggerated show of impatience. Very sharply, he told her, "Dammit Kate, you’re in the wrong place at the wrong time. As usual."

I’m not— she began, her well-honed rebuttal interrupted by a swell of music and the metallic clink of Madame Olga’s gold bangle bracelets.

Tonight, Madame Olga began, we will attempt to venture beyond reality. We will try, through the power of our minds, to communicate with the other side. With any luck, one of you will be chosen for the experience of a lifetime.

What experience is that, Madame Olga? Matt asked.

Silently, Kate fumed. That should have been her question.

Why, traveling to the future, of course. Isn’t that why some of you are here?

Hushed whispers circulated from person to person. While the others seemed in awe of the adventure the medium promised, Kate sensed Matt’s disbelief as strongly as her own. Perhaps, together, they’d be able to uncover Madame Olga’s secrets.

Together. The thought conjured up unwanted, yet unstoppable, memories.

Madame Olga took the hand of the man at her right and held it in hers. What is your name? she asked.

Joe. Joe Waldman.

Stroking his weathered hand with her bejeweled fingers, she said, Madame Olga senses unease within you, Joseph Waldman. You miss your late wife and wish to know that she is at peace.

Yes, the man said solemnly. His voice filled with emotion, his eyes with tears.

Madame Olga spoke to each person in turn, taking their hand in hers, using her powers to divine their needs. As she had with Joe Waldman, she correctly identified each of the next three guests’ reasons for seeking audience with a spiritualist.

When Kate’s turn came, she reluctantly put her hand in Madame Olga’s. The mere touch of the medium’s fingertips sent a shock through her hand and arm. Madame Olga obviously felt it as well, for she quickly released Kate’s hand only to take it up again a moment later.

What is your name? Madame Olga asked.

Kate...Kate Brogan.

Well, Kate Brogan, Madame Olga senses a power within you. An electricity. You are curious by nature, and—

Amen, Matt muttered at Kate’s side.

Shh, Kate admonished, fixing him with what she hoped to be a quelling glare.

Madame Olga also senses a deeply buried hostility between you and the gentlemen at your side. You were once lovers, perhaps?

Something like that, Matt said sharply.

And you, Madame asked, what is your name?

Matthew Kelly.

Detective Kelly, I would believe, Madame Olga said. You are a police detective, are you not?

Yes, Matt admitted.

A second murmur worked its way through the room, dying down when Matt asked, Should I leave, Madame Olga?

"No, Detective Kelly, Madame Olga welcomes your scrutiny. I have nothing to hide and everything to prove. All I ask is that, when you see the power Madame Olga possesses for yourself, you will let me be and allow me to earn an honest living."

Fair enough, Matt agreed.

Good. Now, let us join hands.

With the circle of hands complete, Madame Olga closed her eyes. Her head fell forward. The lights dimmed and then went out completely, leaving them bathed in nothing more than the glow of a handful of candles spread randomly around the room. The music, barely audible before, swelled slowly and then fell silent.

Kate sat as still as a statue, holding her breath, waiting, for what she wasn’t sure. Madame Olga held tightly to her right hand. Matt held even tighter to her left. Kate wanted to pull free of Matt’s hold, to escape the memory-inducing warmth of his grasp. Yet, to do so would break the psychic bond Madame Olga had set out to establish.

Listen to yourself, Brogan. You sound like a convert. A believer. Peters’ll have your butt on a platter if you mess this up. You’re here to do a job, nothing more. And certainly nothing less.

Madame Olga chanted, her voice changing from high-pitched squeal to deep growl, and back again. Her words changed from English, to very rudimentary Spanish, to some strange dialect Kate had never heard.

The candles flickered, sending shadows dancing across the room. Madame Olga’s chanting stopped. The inflection of her voice changed. Joseph, she said, are you there?

Helga, darling, Joe Waldman answered, Is that you?

Kate felt herself being tugged in Matt’s direction. Automatically, and most infuriatingly, she leaned closer. Next to her ear, he whispered, Oh, brother, how corny can you get?

Shh. Despite her admonishment, she couldn’t deny having the same thought herself.

I am happy, Joseph. I am at peace.

Madame Olga slumped forward, her head nearly touching the smooth velvet cloth.

Is there more? Joe Waldman asked.

She is gone, Madame said simply. I feel another presence waiting. I need a moment.

The chanting began again and, as before, Madame Olga’s voice changed. Her tone deep and guttural, her accent Bronx-thick, she called out a name. Gloria. Gloria, baby.

Harvey? The blonde sitting directly opposite Kate responded eagerly. Is that you, Harvey?

Yeah, came the reply. Whatta ‘ya want, baby?

Kate watched the woman named Gloria with interest, wondering if she worked for the medium as a plant.

The woman swallowed hard, visibly shaken by having made contact with what she obviously believed to be the other side. Her frightened vulnerability was as vivid as the bright red lipstick and thick, fake eyelashes she wore. Gloria seemed genuine.

I want, she began, then swallowed again. I want to know what you did with my diamond necklace!

Kate couldn’t help the chuckle that escaped her throat. Nor could she halt the quickening of her pulse when Matt squeezed her hand in acknowledgment of the infinitesimal slip.

Madame Olga slumped forward again, but not before saying one final word in Harvey’s deep voice, Wife.

You gave it to your wife? Why you sleazy son-of-a—

Gloria, Kate imagined, would have gladly continued her diatribe had Madame Olga not sat up suddenly, her breathing ragged and her head bobbing around like a plastic dog in the back window of some teenager’s souped-up car.

The guide, Madame said dramatically. "I feel his presence. He has come to escort one of you to the future. Everyone. Quickly. Close your eyes. Feel his strength."

Kate had